


Away From Home

by windchijmes



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Durin Family, Family Feels, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 18:05:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/751446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windchijmes/pseuds/windchijmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the quest, Kili and Fili get homesick. And they're not alone in it. Of course, they're too grown up to tell Thorin about this. But casually moving their bed-rolls so that they're sandwiching him? That's okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Away From Home

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for this prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3651.html?thread=7633475#t7633475

None of them will admit it. The homesickness.

The quest is creeping into every crevice of their conscious minds, and haunting them long after sleep has stolen upon them. It is all they think, live and breathe.

Kili is the first to show signs of it. His smiles are dimmer now. Most days, they brim with their usual good cheer and energy. Sometimes, he gives up, and the smile on his lips dies halfway to his eyes. And on occasion, he stops smiling at all. Nearly losing Fili to the stone giants had been particularly – startling? Shocking? Earth-shattering? Kili has no word to describe the way his heart _stopped beating_ when he thought, perhaps, his brother was dead. Strangely, though Fili lives, it feels like Kili’s heart never quite recovered since. There’s a piece of it that’s left behind with the stone giants. Then, the other day, Thorin nearly plunged to his death, and Kili ended up losing several more heartbeats to that ravine.

He thinks one of these days, he may end up having holes in his soul.

So Kili devices his own method of patching himself back up. Night after night, he shifts his bed-roll as close as possible to Fili’s, at the risk of being mocked at by the Company. Fili knows, of course, but he doesn’t say a word and simply keeps his eyes closed. Then Kili stares into his brother’s hair as it’s lit up by what meagre fire they have going.

Other Dwarves liken Fili’s hair to gold – akin to the gleaming mountains trapped in Erebor, guarded by that dreadful serpent. Kili sees gold as well – golden wheatfields rippling under a teasing, laughing breeze. The Blue Mountains outlined by the lighter azure of summer skies. Clouds like white ribbons – the kind Dwarven lasses wear in their hair.

_Home._

Then Kili’s whole being feels more – evened out. Less eroded.

Sometimes, he catches himself looking at Thorin’s solitary figure as it rests in its bed-roll, away from the Company. He thinks that when he and Fili are little, they used to sleep a lot nearer to their Uncle. Kili no longer has a fully-formed memory of it, and that doesn’t feel right, somehow.

So, with each passing night, he inches his and Fili’s bed-rolls just that little bit closer to Thorin’s. Eventually, all three bed-rolls would line up just right.

++++++++++

So many nights in the wilderness now. He’s kept a tight count of them, never letting one night slip by unnoticed. Away from the light of the fire, he watches his Company from hooded eyes.

Nori and Dori softly bickering about something inconsequential and Ori plugging his fingers into his ears. Balin staring upwards at the night sky as if the stars may provide divine insight. Bofur cackling under his breath as he watches the flying insects swoop in and out of Bombur’s heavy snores. Gloin’s fingers wrapped tight around the locket he guards so jealously every day. Oin fast asleep, finding peace from the deafening silence of his faded hearing. Bifur murmuring in Khuzdul, more fluent and lucid in his half-slumber than he is when awake. Dwalin keeping second watch at the perimeter, a hulking silhouette against weary moonlight. The Hobbit not yet asleep, less twitchy than he is during the day as he snorts at a wry remark from a less-sagely-Wizard, more-cantankerous-old-man Gandalf.

Fili and Kili fussing over their bed-rolls.

It takes some effort for Thorin not to bark something out like an annoyed uncle. The two Dwarves are young, but fully-grown and more than capable of fending for themselves. The Company enjoys them, much in the way elder Dwarves indulge and tolerate the boisterous, occasionally foolish gambolling of overgrown pups.

Sometimes Thorin looks at them, and for a fleeting moment, he sees two Dwarflings chasing each other, flashing black and golden amongst the trees. It’s a trick of the mind, he knows, confusing memory with reality.

Even now, tugging and prodding their bed-rolls around, they look like two boys fighting over sleeping space – in a world tarnished by hatred and vengeance, and death.

He doesn’t want them to _look like that_ , for it makes him think of them as sister-sons, and not the warriors that the quest demands of them.

So, Thorin closes his eyes. Not in sleep, not yet. Just to rest his eyes from watching his Company. And still, he hears the young voices of his sister-sons loud and clear in his ears.

++++++++++

On the seventh night, Fili decides enough is enough. It’s unbelievable that Kili somehow thinks it would go unnoticed. First of all, he squeezes his bed-roll so close to Fili it’s almost as if he’s doing what he used to do as a child – nestling into Fili during thunderstorms. That’s not too bad. The nights are cold, and Fili welcomes any bit of extra heat to that tiny non-fire they have going.

But sneaking _their_ – Fili’s as well, yes – bed-rolls closer and closer to Thorin with each night?

It’s ridiculous and stealthy, somewhat exasperating, mostly childish, and entirely inappropriate. That’s exactly what he told Kili too, so now Kili is indignant, in addition to being self-righteous about it.

 _Thorin needs more protection_ , Kili argues. Chin lifted. Shoulders drawn back. Arms crossed.

Fili wonders if they are, in fact, brothers, because sometimes, he doesn’t understand the thought processes of this creature called Kili.

It gets even more interesting. Three nights ago, when they first started arguing about the self-moving bed-rolls, Fili had seen, quite by chance, Thorin watching them. And he was doing it from beneath his mane of hair and heavy eyebrows, so clearly, he was pretending _not_ to be doing it.

This night, Thorin’s doing it again. His eyes are closed, but his posture gives his waking state away. Even like this, he radiates gruff concern like an awkward, overly-anxious uncle.

It’s stealthy and ridiculous, somewhat childish, mostly exasperating. And it makes Fili’s heart ache with fierce longing, because that is their _Uncle_ , and within him, is _home_. Even if Thorin hasn’t yet found out how to go about encouraging it. Moments like these, Fili contemplates how he’s related to these _two_ thick-headed, tempestuous and slightly-mad Dwarves. He misses his mother suddenly. She would know what to do with all of them.

So Fili decides finally that he has _enough_ of this tip-toeing. He gets to his feet, packs his bed-roll, and tells his gawking brother in no uncertain terms, “We’re moving. Now.”

++++++++++

For a half hour or so, the entire Company, plus Wizard and Hobbit, are treated to the sight of two young Dwarves packing up their bed-rolls and marching over everyone.

_Oh, sorry there, Bombur. Relax, Gloin, we’re only moving, not running away. No, Mister Balin, we are not moonstruck._

Fili is leading the procession, directing his brother crisply as they halt at their destination – Thorin’s bed-roll. Fili just points here and there. Casually and efficiently, the brothers smooth their bed-rolls out on either side of Thorin. Kili on the right, Fili on the left. Perfectly aligned to their Uncle’s bed-roll.

Thorin is still pretending to be asleep, but he’s not really able to keep it up for long. Slowly, stiffly, he unfurls from his rigid posture, and stretches out on his back. It works better than Gandalf’s spells. Kili curls onto his side so that his head _just_ rests at his Uncle’s shoulder. Fili carefully wriggles closer until his fingers touch his Uncle’s sleeve.

Thorin’s eyes open now, and they track slowly over the young, sleeping forms of his sister-sons cuddling right up to him. His face twists in a sort of wry grimace, and sheer, unadulterated fondness. The kind of face an almost-father would have when he looks upon his almost-children, and he sees at once their childhood selves and their grown-up counterparts.

For the first night in a long time, Thorin Oakenshield closes his eyes and falls asleep before the rest of the Company.

++++++++++

The _rest of the Company_ raise their heads almost simultaneously. Stealthily and conspiratorially, they watch the unstirring figures of the Heirs, making sure they’re truly asleep. Then, the Dwarves look at one another, some beginning to grin more brightly than others. _Seven nights_ for the three bed-rolls to end up side by side.

A few sacks of clinking coins hurtle across the space, caught and pocketed gleefully by the winning parties.

The Hobbit rolls his eyes. The Wizard puffs out a smoke ring and mutters _Dwarves_ under his breath.

Through it all, Thorin and his sister-sons sleep on. At peace.

  _  
_

_finis_

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